Alexander's Chronicle: Chapter 1

I was thirteen when I met my brothers. Father had told me about them a few years before. All I knew of Marcel and Morgan was that they lived far away from the Forest where my father and I live and that they were older than I, Father's children by his wife. That last was enough to keep me from inquiring further about them or asking when I would ever see them. But one morning shortly after my thirteenth birthday, my father told me at breakfast that I would not be joining him on his patrols, but rather that I would be taken to see Marcel and Morgan. I didn't have the slightest idea what to say to this, so I just nodded and finished my porridge.

We rode out to one of Father's hunting lodges deep in the Forest with a large party of rangers, hawks and hounds, almost as if we were going on patrol. There was already smoke coming from the chimneys and there were servants on hand to greet us. Father told me to go in with Peter, who I realized was the steward, as quiet and solemn as Father himself, and that he would be back shortly. So, in I went and Peter took me into a sort of parlor. From the window, I could see Father riding away from the house alone on Morganstern, leaving the rest of the party who had come with with us around the house. Servants were building a fire and setting out food and wine and being very busy, so I just waited by the window and hoped Father would return soon. A kindly maid came by and asked if I wouldn't rather wait in the kitchen until the others came, but Peter chased her off.

After what seemed like forever, Father came riding back towards the house with a young man on a fine riding horse following behind him. The young man looked nothing like Father. He had wavy blond hair and a small reddish beard and the fanciest town clothes I had ever seen, all blue and gold. He grinned and waved to me as they passed the window towards the door of the house and disappeared. I watched a bit longer and saw Father leave again, alone. He returned once more, this time with an even younger stranger (although quite a bit older than me). This one looked just like Father, but much taller and with his hair cut short. He was dressed like a knight's squire (I had seen my father break in a few of those by this time), with grey clothes trimmed with green.

The door opened behind me and I turned as the first young man dashed into the room. He grinned at me and threw himself into an armchair just as I heard my father's footfall's in the hallway. Peter opened the door and showed my father and the second young man into the room.

"Marcel, Alex, I take it you've had a chance to get acquainted." I kept my face expressionless and simply nodded. Father gestured to the second young man to move towards us, "This is your brother Morgan."

"Greetings, my brothers" Morgan said politely, he bowed slightly to both of us and offered his hand to Marcel and to me. I just shook hands.

Father had moved back into the doorway. He cleared his throat "I think it's time you all got to know each other. I don't want you to have just me in common. I'll be back in the morning." He turned and left before I could do more than open my mouth to protest.

Behind me, I could hear Marcel walk over to the table. "Wine anyone?", he asked, pouring himself a goblet. I turned back to see him picking through the food laid out on the table. "Come, help yourselves," he says. "You could use something to eat, Alex, being a growing boy and all."

Morgan walked over the table and picked up a goblet. Marcel seized the decanter and poured enthusiastically until Morgan put his hand over the top of the glass to stop him. "Thank you, ... Marcel" he said and stepped back to watch us, sipping his wine slowly, and occasionally sampling some of the food on the table. I decided that going hungry would be pretty rude, so I went over to the other end of the table and began putting a lunch together, watching Marcel and Morgan as I did so.

Marcel walked over to my end and said kindly, "Don't be shy, take as much as you want. It's good to see someone with a healthy appetite. By the way, I'm Marcel." He turned towards and Morgan and remarked, "Dad always was one for the dramatic. What better way to be dramatic then to put his three boys together and disappear." He grinned at me, then looked back at Morgan and chuckled, "Come Morgan, *eat*! If you don't hurry, Alex will leave nothing for you." I backed away from the table at this point, although there was more left than we could eat in a week, and went to a chair to eat.

Morgan simply smiled and picked up a plate and began to serve himself. As he did so, he said: "My name is Morgan. I have been told very little about you both, other than your names, and that Marcel is the eldest. I don't know whether this was intended as 'drama', by father. I suspect more that he wants us to come to know each other without any more influence from him than the necessary act of bringing us together." He looked up at Marcel as he said the last, but Marcel had sat next to the fire and was busy eyeing one of the young serving maids until Peter ordered her off on some errand from which she did not return.

Marcel rolled his wine goblet between two fingers and hummed a tune to himself, occasionally singing a few words of some love song under his breath while we finished our lunches. Finally he looked up and said, "My, it's warm in here. Could you please open a window, Peter?" I was tempted to suggest he not sit right next to the fire, but said nothing. Marcel remained where he was, though he turned his chair to face us, and undid his ruffled collar and rolling up his equally ruffled sleeves. He said, "Now then, where were we? Oh yes, Father wants us to get acquainted. Well then, I'm not sure where to start, but there must be something we all have in common other than Julian. Wine? Women? Song? Oh come now, one of those topics must interest you!"

I absolutely, positively had no idea what to say to this, being all of thirteen years old.

Morgan just looked a little uncomfortable and said, "Well, of course all of these topics are of at least passing interest to me, but - well let us say that since I don't know you at all, I would prefer to table discussion of women for the present. I would be happy to discuss wine and song, however. And hunting, of course. Father has taught me much of hunting."

That was something I *did* know something about. But where did Morgan hunt, if not in the Forest? I decided to ask him: "D-do you...come from somewhere else in The Forest?" I bit my tongue, but managed not to look away.

Morgan seemed not to notice my stammer and replied "No, I come from a similar place, called Finndelain. There are large areas of forest there, though. I hunt there when I can. Unfortunately, there have been a large number of unusual beasts roaming the forests recently. It makes hunting difficult - because these beasts take many deer for themselves (and bears, sometimes), and also because the smell of them spooks even the bravest of our steeds. By the by,do you prefer to be called Alexander, or Alex? I would like to call you by the name by which you prefer to be known."

I couldn't bring myself to answer at that point and looked desperately back at Marcel. He smiled and said: "No, Alex...but I used to." He put his goblet down on the floor, stretched out in the chair and sort of sighed, "Now I live in the city of Brynnton. Ah, it's a wonderful place. Fine dining and shopping during the day; shows and gaming at night. Plus, it's got indoor plumbing in the finer homes. Sometimes I do miss the forest though. There's hardly enough room for Isabelle and I to go riding on the city streets. That's when I truly miss the wide open glades and forest trails." He sat up and turned to the window, he looks up at the sky and said, "Ahh, that's another thing I miss. The stars. You hardly ever get to see them over the gaslights and smoky clouds. Don't get me wrong though, I could never move back to Arden after seeing Brynnton's wonders."

He grinned and added "How about you, Morgan? When are you going to come and visit me?"

Morgan replied, "I would visit soon, but I'm not sure how I would get there. From here, or from Finndelaine, for that matter. I don't know much about how Father brought me here. Except for the very beginning, the trail passed through no country that I have ever known. It is incautious of me, perhaps, to admit it, but I do not yet possess Father's abilities to traverse Shadow. I would have found the very idea impossible to believe except that, of course, here we are. It is unfortunate, for I could do with a brief respite in a land of indoor plumbing."

I had no idea what indoor plumbing was, but decided against asking, thinking foolishly that I had distracted Marcel from the topics of wine, women and song (although I doubted and still doubt there is any harm in the last), for the time being.

Marcel disillusioned me almost immediately, "Well, you are both welcome to visit me. I'm sure that if you ask Father to take you when he comes to visit me, he would not hesitate. Perhaps when you come, we could all take in a show after having dinner. And perhaps we could find young Alex some female companionship. After all, there aren't too many young maidens in Forest Arden. What do you say to that Alex?"

I *had* to say something. I could feel my cheeks grow hot and tried to think frantically how Father would handle such a situation. I decided to steer us back to harmless topics and braced myself against stammering. "It would be nice to go somewhere different," I told him, "I'd..I'd have to ask Father." There. That would do, wouldn't it?

Marcel picked his goblet up again, took a large gulp of wine, then got up and went to refill his glass. While he poured, his back turned to us, he asked, "Am I the only one who feels uncomfortable using the word 'Father'? If neither of you minds, I would prefer to call Julian by name rather than by some title. It makes us sound as if we are scared, immature children when we use the word 'Father'." He turned back to us and continued, "I do not mean that in the wrong way, and I hope I didn't offend anyone. It's just that Julian has been more of a friend to me than a father figure, and I feel more comfortable calling him 'Julian'."

I just shrugged. I had never heard of anyone who called his father anything other than "Father", but had already concluded that Marcel just wan't like anyone I knew.

Morgan smiled back at Marcel, showing his teeth, "I don't mind, Marcel, if you want to call Father by his name. That is what it's for, after all. But I don't believe that either Alexander or I ever suggested that you do as we do and call him 'Father'. I do it because *that* is what I am comfortable with, not because it is what we all should do. I would find calling him 'Julian' to be most unsettling, so I won't follow your lead there. Also, in the future, I would prefer, very strongly, not to be called a 'scared, immature child.' I am not offended, but I will be the next time."

Marcel looked surprised and a little shocked, then recovered his usual humorous demeanor. He put his glass down on the table and said apologetically, "I'm sorry, little brother, I did not mean to offend you or Alex. I only meant to say that I felt uncomfortable calling Julian 'Father'. From your reaction I'd say there are at least a few things we differ on. But come, let us get back to what Julian set us here for; to get acquainted. Where were we? Oh yes, wine, women and song!" I felt my heart sink as he walked over to me. Marcel put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to his side and called out to the remaining serving girls in a loud voice, "Now here's a strapping young man! Look at the chiseled features and muscular body! I'd say he'd be more than enough man for any woman! Wouldn't you agree, Morgan?! " All I could do was stand there, knowing my face was as red as could be, until my brother was done with his jest.

Morgan relaxed a little, and laughed. "Sure I would, brother, but I'm not the one, or three perhaps, that you have to convince! On the other hand, I am the one who's going to have just a touch more of that wine!" He then went past us to the table and poured himself a goblet filled to the rim. He swallowed some and said, looking bland, "I have, now and again, been known to overreact. I am pleased that you can overlook it on this occasion. Do either of you know whether or not our Father will be joining us today? "

I shook my head. Marcel released me and I retreated to a chair. I was just relieved that the argument and Marcel's joke were over, at least for the moment. I asked Morgan: "What are those unusual beasts you were telling us of? Have you caught any of them?"

Pacing excitedly across the room, Morgan told us: "Well, there have been several types. The most common is a large flying reptile, which the locals call a Wyvern. Father says that a true Wyvern would bleed fire, though, because they are creatures of Chaos, whatever that means, and these do not. They are about 15 feet long, with about a 30 foot wingspan. No front legs. Stupid, but vicious, and always hungry. We have never actually *caught* one, live, I mean. We've killed several. Usually when an infestation of them starts raiding local herds for meat. Once they find a herd they keep coming back to it, even if they lose a few of their number to our knights, or our archers. Like I said, they are beasts of only crude intelligence. More recently, however, we have seen something else."

Morgan's voice grew quiet: "There is a kind of wolf-like thing, only it is winged, with a carapace after the fashion of an insect. They are few in number. But they will even come into the towns at night. They seem to have each a specific purpose in mind, maybe someone to kill, or something to steal. We call them 'Seekers' for lack of a better term. Father slew one. It burned when he killed it. They are tough, and none but the one Father fought have been captured or slain, so we don't know where they come from. They had never been seen before. I believe they are the work of an evil sorceror. Of course, *most* of what we hunt are beasts of the more ordinary sort. Deer, boars, wild kine."

Marcel had returned to his chair, looking at Morgan as he sipped his wine. After Morgan finished his story, Marcel cleared his throat and said hoarsely, " Well I'm certainly glad there are no creatures like *that* in Brynn." then, more loudly, "But enough of those stories, Morgan; you'll fill Alex's head with ideas of hunting such beasts! And hunting is so..well..*dirty*! If you know what I mean. I'd rather spend a day sitting under a tree reading poetry than hunting something that could as well consider me prey." He added, "I must say though, that Julian has raised you differently than me in that respect. You seem to find it stimulating whereas I find it most unpleasant. All I can think of is the poor creatures suffering and fearing us as they are hunted down."

Morgan and I just looked at him, but Marcel turned to Peter and asked, " Peter, does Julian have a violin or a concertina? " Peter bowed and left.

Marcel returned to the table and set out six wine glasses, pouring varying amounts of wine into each. He wet his fingers in his own wine glass and ran them around the rims of the glasses. The room filled with a haunting humming and ringing as he went from one glass to another. He did this faster and faster until the room was filled with strange music. Eventually he finished and looked around and went very red. He asked, "Any requests?"

Morgan laughed and said "How about the 'Ballad of the Water Crossers'..."

Marcel replied quizzically, "'The Ballad of the Water Crossers'? I've never heard of that one before. Perhaps you could teach me that one sometime."

Peter returned (with a few traces of hastily brushed-away dust on his jacket) carrying a pair of musical instruments (a violin and a concertina). He placed both of these on the table, careful not to disturb the glasses that Marcel had arranged. "I am afraid that I cannot guarantee the tuning of the violin, sir, as it has been unused for some time. The concertina, however, is in as good a shape as can be expected for something borrowed from one of Prince Julian's rangers. Also, if you are interested, sir, there is a piano that is in reasonable condition in the ballroom. Would you care to inspect it?"

Marcel did, of course, want to inspect the piano, so we followed him and Peter to a largish, rather empty chamber just down the hall. The piano, the largest musical instrument I had ever seen, was under a dust sheet in one corner. "The Lady Carmel used to play, upon her visits here" Peter said. "Otherwise, the room has been little used. I believe that Prince Julian has kept the instrument tuned."

Marcel pulled off the dust sheet and plinked at the keyboard. He turned to Peter and gushed, "Splendid, Peter! This is perfect!"

"Thank you, sir" replied Peter, completely unperturbed.

Marcel then turned back to the piano and asked, "Did mother play quite often?" and also, "Does Julian play? "

"The Lady Carmel played every time she was here, sir." Peter replies. "It was her main pasttime as she only once elected to accompany your father on a hunting expedition. I understand that she was rather an accomplished musician. Your father does not play, sir. He used to listen to her play, however."

Marcel asked if either of us played. I shook my head, and Morgan replied, sardonically, "No, Marcel, the only instruments I have learned have been in the horn family. And really, I have not been trained as a musician, so what I could play for you on the horn would probably not seem pleasing. Unless, of course, we were hunting."

Marcel, fortunately, did not take the bait, but proceeded to play some songs on the piano. I had never heard anything like it and was terribly impressed.

The best part of the day for me came few hours later, when Peter summoned us all to dinner and we walked in to find Father seated at the table. Next to him was a small, red-haired woman with green eyes who smiled at us as we came in. She and Father got up. "Fiona, may I present my sons: Marcel, Morgan and Alexander. Boys, this is your Aunt Fiona. Have you been getting along well?"

Marcel and Morgan affirmed that this was the case. Morgan bowed to her and Marcel kissed her hand. I followed Morgan's leave. Father went on, "Fiona is only here on a brief visit at my invitation. I have asked her if she'd be kind enough to paint Trumps of each of you, both for me and for you all." I knew what Trumps were. I recognized Fiona because Father had once shown me her Trump, a card with her picture on it. Father had a Trump of each of his siblings, and by touching these cards, he could communicate with them, no matter how far away they were. He said he could also bring them to him through the Trump cards. And each of them had a Trump of him.

Fiona rose again and said, "I don't have the time to paint these Trumps right now, but I should have shortly. Why don't you contact me at your own convenience and arrange sittings?" She handed each of us a Trump of her and prepared to leave.

Father's mouth pursed up slightly at this, which was quite unusual, as he almost never allows himself to express surprise or irritation or that sort of thing. But he thanked her for her kindness and said he was sure none of us would be any trouble. I was relieved that she was going, because dealing with another strange relative over dinner would have been just a bit much for me to handle, but I stayed quiet.

As Fiona headed towards the door, Marcel looked up from the Trump that he had been given at her and said, "This picture does not do you justice, dear lady. It would be impossible to capture such beauty with mere paper and paint." He went on in a questioning tone, "What is it like to touch another mind? Is it easy? Is it hard? Is it painful?" Then he exclaimed, "Oh, listen to me! Asking so many questions of a guest! Do forgive me, Lady Fiona, I did not mean to be so rude. Perhaps I might discuss such things when I see you again? Anyway, thank you for the Trump card and your visit. I look forward to seeing you again."

Fiona smiled at the compliments and turned to Father. "I see you've brought up your children to be flatterers, brother" she said. He did not reply. I really wished she would leave. Fiona turned back to Marcel. "It requires dedication and lengthy study - as well as at least a modicum of artistic talent - to learn the art of creating Trumps. Your musical bent suggests that you have the talent. If you decide you also have the dedication, then I will gladly teach you. As for your other questions, Marcel, you will experience the touch of another mind when you Trump me." To the rest of us, she said, "I look forward to speaking to you all soon" and took her leave. Looking uncomfortable, Morgan said, "Thank you, aunt Fiona. I look forward to that conversation as well." After she was gone, Father relaxed somewhat (so did I!) and sat down. The servants brought in the first course.

Marcel turned to Father and asked, "Father, what is it? Is there something bothering you? Did we do something wrong when Fiona was here?"

Julian looked up from his plate, his face neutral. "No, son. It is a good idea for you to meet your uncles and aunts. And I'm pleased you're interested in studying with Fiona. Now, eat up."

Morgan spoke up suddenly, "I am sorry if I behaved badly, Father. I have been raised in what is perhaps a very sheltered place and I have to admit that the thought that one of my own relatives is a sorceress distresses me greatly. I did not mean to embarrass anyone, however."

Marcel looked at him and said, "What's this? Aunt Fiona a sorceress? This is the first I've ever heard of this! Father, neither you nor Mother mentioned any of this! Is this true? Is Fiona a witch?"

I began to feel even more nervous than I had when Fiona was there. If my brothers were worried about sorcery, what would they think of my own talents? There was no reason for them to find out but I still didn't like hearing their paranoia.

Julian looked at Morgan and Marcel, his face unreadable. "Saying Fiona is a sorceress or a witch is like saying I am a swordsman. Fiona's understanding of magic is only a very minor one of her powers. But, she is not to be feared or despised for possessing these powers. You must judge on what they are used for."

Morgan backed down. "Of course, Father. I am sorry if I appear prejudiced. The truth is, of course, that I *am* - having only the sorcerors of Finndelaine to view as models. I see that that is not appropriate where Aunt Fiona is concerned. Perhaps I will contact her and sit for a Trump painting after all. I imagine that I will still be uncomfortable, but I would like to overcome this - and make up to her for my behavior."

I looked down at my plate, wondering what my brothers thought of the shapeshifters of Chaos, who had at least as nasty a history, if not worse, for our family than any sorcerors.

Marcel would not let go. "Let's get back to Fiona being a witch! How is it that I never learned of such an important detail about my *own* aunt? Surely there must have been a time when you or mother would have mentioned something, am I correct, Father?"

Father just kept eating, remarking between bites "Marcel, you have now learned this 'important detail' about your aunt. You have also met her and have the opportunity to spend more time with her if you wish to. I would recommend that you conquer your fears and prejudices and do so; at least for the length of time it takes for her to create a Trump of you."

After supper, we said goodbye and Father took Morgan and Marcel back to their homes. I did not see them for another three years.

Note: During this meeting, Alex was thirteen, Marcel twenty and Morgan sixteen.

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